


More Than a Pretty Face

by EclecticRegard



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Genderbending, Pre-Relationship, Undercover, genderbent!DiNozzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticRegard/pseuds/EclecticRegard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Listen, do me a favor, and I promise this whole thing will make sense."</p><p>"Okay, shoot."</p><p>"Reach into my bra, right side. My right." She must have realized the look on his face was that of a man that was less than impressed. "No, seriously. Please?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surrenderdammit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderdammit/gifts).



> I'm taking a few liberties here and you'll have to forgive me, because I know nothing of their lives prior to when Tony joined Gibbs' team, other than he was the first to join. 
> 
> Based off a fill I did for a three-sentence fic prompt on tumblr. I may or may not add onto this later. Tags, relationships, etc., subject to be changed or added on to.
> 
> This is a gift for my lovely and dear friend, surrenderdammit, who has been on a bit of an NCIS kick as of late.

Jethro Gibbs rolled his eyes at the scene set before him as he watched from his corner booth. Nelson Marsh, the chief petty officer currently under investigation for the murder a fellow Marine, had  _still_  found time to hit a bar to flirt with some poor unsuspecting brunette in a way-too-tight, way-too-short black dress. The woman was laying it on thick, too, if her near-constant giggling and not too subtle squeezes of the Marine's hand or upper arm were any indication. She'd accepted the man's request for a drink far too quickly for his liking, though it was most likely due to the fact that he was in uniform; something about the uniform always seemed to attract the best kind of attention. And man, if Gibbs hadn't been on duty, he probably would have approached the woman and offered to buy her a Scotch himself. 

But that wasn't important right now. He had a job to do.

Gibbs shifted his seated position a bit so he could get a good look at the officer's face. If what his colleagues had said was true, Marsh was prone to a surprising and immediately violent temper, and had been accused of his fair share of inappropriate behavior in public settings. The woman was a sudden inconvenience, if that were, in fact, true, because Gibbs would then also be tasked with ensuring her immediate safety as well as the safety of everybody else in the establishment. "Batshit crazy" had come up several times when other Marines described Marsh and that definitely didn't sit right with him.

Honestly, though, how was this woman's face not getting tired from all of that smiling? Gibbs only caught bits and pieces of their conversation and, from what he could tell, not only was Marsh ten kinds of insane, but he was also incredibly stupid. Which begged the question of just how intelligent the woman was, or perhaps his uniform just made it impossible to tell?

Marsh had talked the woman into finishing off two Scotches before things went south. She rejected a third drink from him, pointedly telling the bartender to "fuck off" when Marsh had insisted on giving her another drink anyways. The switch from cool flirt to near-Incredible Hulk anger had been instantaneous as he grabbed her wrist in a crushing grasp, yanking her close as he snarled something at her, his voice dangerously low and vicious and too quiet for Gibbs to hear. By the time Gibbs had gotten to his feet, gun in hand, the woman had slammed Marsh face-first into the bar, her own gun jammed into the back of his neck.

"NCIS! Drop the gun!"

The woman shot a wild look over her shoulder, her frown deepening when she spotted the gun trained on her. With a heavy sigh, she muttered something to herself before tossing her gun back to Gibbs, stepping away from Marsh.

She held her hands up, blowing a bit of hair out of her eyes. "NCIS, huh? That's  _cute_. Will the real cops be getting here soon?"

Gibbs resisted the urge to huff and roll his eyes; of course she was just as mouthy as she was pretty. "Shut up and put your hands on the bar."

\---

**Approximately two hours earlier...**

 

Appreciative whistles filled the air as Detective Antonia DiNozzo stepped into the back of the surveillance van to finish the final touches before she went into the bar.

She took a quick bow, letting a hand out in front of her in a flourish, before she stood up straight again and gave her colleagues a grin. "Thank you, thank you. Take it all in, boys. Everything you see before you is incredibly real, but so incredibly not likely to happen again in your presence."

"Can it, DiNozzo, or you'll smear your lipstick or somethin'," came a gruff voice as somebody stepped in behind her, slamming the door shut. 

"That's not really how it works, Captain. But good thinking, I should save my flirtatious energy for this sonuvabitch." DiNozzo took the proffered gun and badge from her captain, strapping them on tight and discreetly as they went through the final run-down of the night.

Suspected of several cases of assault from a few weeks earlier, Nelson Marsh was a major horn dog and really into brunettes, which had just been a major irritation to her as everyone in the bullpen during the original debriefing had immediately turned to look at  _her_  when they heard that particular tidbit of information. Not that she didn't like going undercover, of course; she just disliked the jobs where there was a distinct possibility that some jerk would think that manhandling her was the best way to seal the deal of the night. Two broken collarbones, a few busted pinkies, and several hairline fractures to the ribs at her hands apparently hadn't gotten around in the Dirty Creeps Tabloid. Still, she was the only brunette detective already assigned to the case, and it didn't make much sense to pull in somebody else when they already had her right there and ready to go. And Antonia DiNozzo always enjoyed the chance to dress up and go out drinking (she tried to ignore the fact that this was a job, otherwise it wouldn't really count as "going out" like her elderly neighbor insisted she needed to do more often).

They waited approximately ten minutes after they had spotted Marsh entering the bar, alone, before DiNozzo hopped out of the van and ventured inside. She took the seat three down from where Marsh had planted himself, flashing him a pleasant, interested smile before turning her attention to the bartender. To his credit, Marsh let her get about halfway through a cheap swill of a beer before he moved to join her, offering to buy her "something better and more suited for a lady like her." DiNozzo had, of course, accepted with a gracious thank-you, citing that she didn't really know anything about good versus bad liquor, which was the starting point for the next couple of hours as Marsh made it a point to show her just how worldly and impressive his knowledge and experience was.

She didn't want to admit it, but the guy was kinda funny, if pretentious as hell. She only had to fake-laugh half of the time, blatantly ignoring his gross over-exaggerations and strokes to his own ego. He wouldn't have been an ideal candidate if she had been there off-duty, but she'd gone undercover with far more boring targets before, so it was almost -- sadly -- refreshing (she really  _did_  need to get out more, Jesus H. Christ). 

When they finished their second glass of Scotch and he made a move to order more, DiNozzo politely declined, citing that she really had to be going. Marsh, at first, tried to tell her that whatever she had going on in the morning could wait and proceeded to order a third round. At that, DiNozzo stood and said to the bartender (as much as to Marsh himself), "Fuck off. I'm going home." He snatched her wrist and yanked her down so that he could growl into her ear. She heard something akin to "Sit your ass down, bitch" before she pulled herself free from his grasp, grabbed a handful of his hair, and slammed him down onto the bar in one fell swoop. She grabbed the gun that had been strapped to the inside of her thigh and had it at his throat in a second.

That's when she heard it: "NCIS! Drop the gun." 

Oh, for  _fuck's_  sake. Who the hell invited them?? She looked over her shoulder to find an older man pointing a gun directly at her. She sighed and mumbled into the small microphone that had been put on her, just in case Marsh said something incriminating, "Captain, don't come in yet. Meet me at their house so I don't blow cover." 

DiNozzo tossed her gun in the older man's direction, stepping back out of Marsh's reach as she put her hands above her head. Her mouth opened before she could control it. "NCIS, huh?--" ( _"DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing?"_ came from her earpiece) "--That's  _cute_. Will the real cops be getting here soon?"

The man's eyes narrowed, just a fraction, as he stepped closer. "Shut up and put your hands on the bar."

\---

The entire ride over was not spent in peaceful silence, much to Gibbs' exasperation. The woman didn't know how to shut up, and no matter how much Marsh snarled at her to do so, she didn't even acknowledge his presence, instead focusing her words and attention on Gibbs. She kept on talking, too, even as they walked through to the interview rooms down in the basement of the NCIS building; she even tossed a few flirtatious jabs at the other NCIS agent Gibbs had enlisted to help move the two. 

Gibbs took great pleasure in leaving her in a room by herself while he went to look through her stuff, giving both suspects some time to stew and become appropriately agitated -- not that Marsh needed any more time for that. There wasn't anything of interest or out of the ordinary in her purse, other than an extra magazine for her weapon, so he allowed himself the extra time to go get a coffee before going back down to the interview rooms.

He walked into the woman's room first, quirking a brow when he realized she was quoting lines from a James Bond movie (he had to admit, her Sean Connery was pretty good) to entertain herself. He set his coffee on the edge of the table, well out of her reach, and took the seat opposite of her, setting an empty file down in front of him for good measure.  She gave him an indulgent smile, like she thought his attempts at intimidation were nothing short of absolutely adorable.

"So, mind telling me what you were thinking, pulling a gun in public?" he asked, casually sipping at his drink.

"Oh, you know. It's just one of those bad habits I can't break. Only happens whenever a sleaze ball tries to force me to do something I don't want to, funnily enough," she shot back, her tone matching his own casualness.

Gibbs had to stop himself from snorting. "Fair enough. That doesn't mean you have the right to blow some guy's head off, just because he got rough with you in a public setting."

The woman's even smile flickered for a moment and, finally, she huffed, hanging her head for a moment before shooting a pleading look at him. "Look, these handcuffs are getting annoying as hell. Listen, do me a favor, and I promise this whole thing will make sense."

"Okay, shoot."

"Reach into my bra, right side. My right." She must have realized the look on his face was that of a man that was less than impressed. "No,  _seriously_. Please?"

After a good few moments of hesitation, Gibbs leaned over the table, feeling at the fabric over her breast before he allowed himself to reach behind the dress, noting there was something oddly hard hidden away. When he produced a small leather bound item, much like a small booklet, she shot a grin at him, watching carefully as he opened it.

"... Detective Antonia DiNozzo, huh?" Gibbs carefully examined the pictured detective, a slightly dressed down version of the woman currently sitting before him, before he set the badge on the table in front of her. He got up and moved around to the other side to undo her handcuffs. "Nice work, DiNozzo."

DiNozzo chuckled, rubbing her wrists gratefully as her grin widened at the unexpected praise. "Thanks, Boss."

\---

"Gibbs did  _not_  put his hand in your bra, Toni."

"Hand to God, McGee!" Toni exclaimed, holding up her hand in a "scout's honor" gesture. "He just leaned over," she imitated by leaning over Tim's desk, reaching at him, "and whoop! Snatched my badge right from my bra."

"Even if Gibbs  _did_  do that, Toni, why are you bragging about it?" Ziva asked from her desk, her eyes fixed on her computer screen as she typed away. She was, at least, better at pretending that she wasn't as interested in the story of how Toni and Gibbs met than Tim was.

"I'm not bragging, Ziva. I'm just trying to convince you guys that that's what really happened!" She stood up straight again, grinning down at Tim. "It really did, by the way. I got to second base with Gibbs within the first few hours that we met."

There was an immediate, familiar smack to the back of her head. "Isn't there a report you could be typing up, DiNozzo?"

Toni's hand flew up to rub the spot as she all but flew back to her own desk. "I'm sure I could find one, Boss."

"Good." Gibbs paused at the edge of the bullpen, then turned to look at his team. "And DiNozzo? Next time you tell the story, don't leave out the extra begging you did to get me to even  _consider_  reaching into your bra."

He left to the sound of snickering from the other two members as Toni stared after him, stammering and red in the face.


End file.
